


this affair ends

by titasjournal



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 20:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14480520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titasjournal/pseuds/titasjournal
Summary: a series of snapshots picturing gillian & david's relationship over the years. doesn't follow any specific plot.I. a young actress from chicago: centered around the audition process. 1992





	this affair ends

**Author's Note:**

> hello! hi! this is my attempt at a gillovny fanfiction. i've never written them before & i'm not too confident about it, so any sort of feedback (good, bad or in between) is very much appreciated! i hope you like it!
> 
> this first story goes out to my lovely girl emma for being such a cheerleader! love you girl!

The first time they met, she was sitting down, head buried in a script, and he was standing up, towering over her with an untainted interest he hadn’t experienced in a while.

He walked out of the elevator, towards the audition rooms, with a distinct confidence that he would no longer be unemployed very soon. He was aware of how prepared he was for this callback, as was he aware of the favoritism that shifted over to his corner. The only thing he would have to really nail was the chemistry read, but he needn’t worry about that for a while, for the auditions to find the female lead were only going to begin that day.

In fact, the place was swarming with young actresses, most of which looked virtually the same – perfectly acceptable ginger hair only achieved by the hands of a trained professional; tailored suits with skirts far too short for one to ever be allowed to enter the Hoover building in an official capacity.

He refrained himself from judging them solely based on their appearance, though – after all, he’d put on a suit with a ridiculous tie in hopes of looking vaguely like the character he was meant to play.

“Excuse me, hi,” he said, flashing one of the women his kilowatt smile. “You don’t happen to have matches, do you?”

The woman looked up at him – she looked like a receptionist at a fancy hotel in her white button-up shirt and slicked-back hair.

“No, sorry,” she answered, visibly nervous. Then, she took a few moments to look at the man in front of her and eased up her posture. “I’m Stephanie, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She extended a perfectly manicured hand, which he took politely. She was about to strike up a conversation, he realized, so he quickly said: “Nice to meet you. Good luck!” and walked further down the hallway.

He decided to stick with his opening line of a man in need for a light, maybe check out his soon-to-be co-worker for the next few months.

He sat down on the empty chair next to a blonde aspiring actress and introduced himself. She didn’t have a light either, but they both knew that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“So, you confident about this gig or what?” he asked, nonchalantly.

“Oh, for sure. I mean, _I’m_ _her_ , you know.” The actor nodded, even though he really _did not know_. The female lead was supposed to have majored in physics and have a medical degree – she was supposed to be the perfect blend between intelligence and femininity. He would take a wild guess and say that this woman did not, in fact, have a medical degree. “What about you? Are you the super _intelligent_ and super _foxy_ detective?” she asked, grabbing the lapel of his suit jacket for emphasis. He laughed uncomfortably.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone laughing. He heard the muffled giggles coming from a woman siting just at the end of the hall – he could only see her bowed-down head. Her hair was messily colored in efforts of getting it to red – it was brown though, but as she moved her head, fiery locks would unravel.

He promptly wished his companion luck and walked towards that other woman.

He cleared his throat and began: “Hello, you wouldn’t happen to have-“

He was cut off by a hand in front of him. She was holding out a box of matches.

“How did you-“ he tried again, taking the box from her hand. _Black nails, huh._

“You’ve been asking every person of the female sex on the premises for some, haven’t you?” she replied, still not peeling her eyes from the script. “I’m just surprised none of them had any.” She waved at the array of women he’d just walked through.

“Fair enough.” He said, lighting his cigarette. “I’m David.”

Now sitting beside her, he extended a hand in hopes of introducing himself properly, but she dismissed it. “And I’m busy. Do you mind?”

_Damn, what’s her deal?_

He silently acquiesced, but he didn’t move from his place. Instead, he leaned back and took a drag from his cigarette, letting his eyes wander the length of her frame. That didn’t take long, he later realized, as she was the most petite woman he’d ever met. Granted, he hadn’t exactly met her _yet_ , but still. She was dressed in a suit far too big to be hers - she nearly drowned in it – and her fingers drummed anxiously on her thigh.

“I could help you, if you want.” He tried again. “Wanna run lines?”

That’s when she finally looked up.

Her eyes reminded him of oceans he’d never seen and skies he’d never flown across. They were so intensely blue he could hardly believe they real – surely her management had gotten her some contact lenses or something of the sort to help her overall look.

“Okay, but _only_ because I’m nervous as hell for this fucking thing,” she clarified, before offering him the smallest hint of a smile.

Still a bit shaken from the unexpected contact with the new-found shade of blue – _god, if the color of the woman’s eyes does this to me now, imagine working with her every day_ – David retrieved his script and opened it to the very first page of dialogue.

She was nervous, that had been previously established, so he’d been waiting for a shaky start, but the moment the words: “Agent Mulder, I’m Dana Scully” left her lips, he was completely sold. _Yes, you are Dana Scully! I believe you! I believe you!_

Seeing as he wouldn’t respond, she repeated her line: “Agent Mulder, I’m Dana Scully. I’ve been assigned to work with you.” She extended her hand and smiled.

He ( _finally!_ ) took her hand in his and replied in the snarky voice he’d been practicing: “Oh, isn’t it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded.”

Her eyes shifted for a moment, like his words had stung her _hard_. David was mesmerized. “So, who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?”

She tipped her chin up, shooting back: “Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you. I've heard a lot about you.”

David turned his body towards her further, until they were completely facing one another: “Oh, really? I was under the impression that you were sent to spy on me.”

She remained silent for a few beats – he almost thought she’d forgotten her line – but she was studying him. She was studying Mulder. “If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials I—”

Her accent was… different. _She can’t be from around here_ , he thought. He liked it, though. It gave her character.

“You’re a medical doctor. You teach at the Academy…”

As he went on and on about an Oregon female and his unexplained phenomena – a spiel he knew by heart at this point – David allowed himself to just indulge and stare into her eyes. At first, he was just trying it out – delivering his lines without detaching his gaze away from hers – but he soon understood how intense and _new_ it felt. Acting with this woman was the most excited he’d ever been to act opposite anyone before (that he could remember, at the very least).

“Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?” he leaned forwards emphatically, their faces only inches apart. She was trying very hard not to laugh, he could tell.

“Logically, I would have to say no.” David offered his costar his most wounded and disappointed look. She bounced off of it and continued: “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities that—"

“Conventional wisdom. You know this Oregon female. She’s the fourth person in her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. Now when convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?” Even he could appreciate how pretentious he sounded, but she stayed in character. As a matter of fact, David could no longer discern that potty-mouthed, young actress – he could only see a determined FBI agent trying to out-smart her male counterpart.

“The girl obviously died of something. If it was natural causes it’s plausible that there was something missed in the post-mortem. If she was murdered it’s plausible there was a sloppy investigation.” She dropped her script and it fell on the floor with an audible _clank_. “What I find fantastic is that there are any answers beyond the realm of science.” This time, she was the one who leaned forward. Her short hair almost brushed the side of his face and her eyes swam lazily behind her eyelids. “The answers are there. You just have to know where to look.” The way those last words rolled out of her tongue felt almost unrightfully unfair. She knew how to do this - the whole nervous act from before was just that, an _act_.

David couldn’t help but coming close to eliminate those last few inches of proximity between them: “That’s why they put the _I_ in FBI.”

That was it. They both burst out laughing immediately. She held on to his shoulder for support as the laughter flowed out of her unapologetically. That’s something he would later come to learn about her – that she hardly did anything expressing regret.

“God, that was fucking amazing!” she finally calmed down.

“Damn right it was,” he agreed, both of them still panting from the fit of laughter.

Before she could say anything more, the door to the room next to them opened, and a man walked out: “Miss Gillian Anderson. Miss Gillian Anderson.”

She quickly gathered her things and held out her hand once more: “That’s me. I should hope we do it again sometime.”

“Next time, in front of cameras and with our names on a paycheque.” He replied, shaking her hand once before letting go.

He watched her walk into that shoebox of a room. Her suit looked absolutely ridiculous, but she would more than make up for it with her performance.

_Gillian Anderson, huh? I’ll be damned._

***

 

David got one of the security guards to light another cigarette as he waited outside the building. He’d unconsciously decided to wait for her – Gillian.

“Hey, how’d the audition go?” he asked, striding quickly behind her as he realized she’d just walked through the door.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked back, not slowing down to talk to him.

“I was waiting to know if we were going to work together.” He proudly explained, flashing her a big smile.

“You got the part?” she asked, stopping in front of him. _Damn, she really is short._

“Well, yes ma’am, I did.” He replied, his excitement mimicking that of a little boy.

“That’s wonderful. Good for you.” She congratulated him sincerely, but he could tell something was wrong.

“Hey, how about we grab some coffee?”

 

They walked a couple of blocks until he led her in to one of his favorite coffee shops in LA. She sat down outside while he ordered them a couple of coffees.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” she asked unassumingly.

He laughed: “David.” She raised her eyebrows, inciting him to continue. “Duchovny. David Duchovny.”

“Duchovny.” She said his name like she was trying it on in front of a full-length mirror, twirling around in it to make sure it fit perfectly.  “I like that.” She decided. “Where’s that from?”

“Well,” he started, taking a drag from his nearly burnt out cigarette. “I was born and raised in New York but my father is Jewish and mom is Scottish.”

“Ah, a true mutt.” She said, bringing the steaming cup to her lips. He watched intently as she left a brown-ish waxing crescent moon of lipstick on the porcelain. “I lived in New York for a while.” She offered, but nothing else.

“Let me guess: NYU?”

“DePaul University's Goodman Theater School,” she corrected him. “It’s in Chicago.”

“That’s a mouthful, huh?” he chuckled, but she remained impassive. “Chicago? That’s where you’re from?”

“Theoretically, yes. I was born in Chicago.” She answered. He would venture a guess that she wasn’t at all comfortable talking about herself that much. That’s what made her interesting, though. There was a certain thrill in not being in control of this conversation – she drew the line and decided on what information she would divulge to him. Every small detail of her life was to be memorized and catalogued in a brand-new section of his mind dedicated solely to this little young actress from Chicago.

“Why live in New York, then?” he pressed, resting his elbows on the table.

“I tried a bit of stage acting, but it didn’t work out.” She shrugged and drank more of her coffee – her not-so-subtle hint at the fact that that conversation was over. “What about you?”

He began to speak, but she interrupted him. “Let me guess.” She started. He leaned back in his chair and made himself comfortable. He was definitely going to enjoy this. “So, I know you were born and raised in the Big Apple.” He observed her – she lifted her chin and looked up at the cloudless sky, pondering before speaking. “Private school? You look like you aced your way through high school.” She grinned smugly at him and he couldn’t help but relish in that grin meant just for him. “I bet you got into some big, fancy college. Harvard or Yale, maybe.”

“Princeton first. Then Yale.” He dropped his head onto his hands and looked up at her like a little puppy. She laughed.

“No shit! Why are you acting, then? Why waste that priceless intellect on alien fantasies?” she sounded genuinely interested. Finally.

“So I could meet people like you.” He flirted. She laughed, again.

“Really, though. Why acting?” she let her hair fall slightly to the front of her face, like a sheer curtain to protect her gaze from wandering to his. All he wanted was to brush it off her face.

“It was hanging around Yale, actually. My buddy was acting and it just sort of hit me as an actual career. Something I was passionate about.” He lifted his head until his back was fully straight and his eyes were on the same level as hers.

She didn’t speak after that, and neither did he for that matter. They sat there, across from each other, in quiet reflection. It was almost like she was the studying her prey from afar, learning its weaknesses to later on attack and conquer.

He took a cigarette from his pants’ pocket and waved it at her. Gillian retrieved the matches from her bag and handed them over. He lit it.

She shrugged off her suit jacket and exposed a creme camisole that laid dormant underneath. She then ran her fingers through her tousled hair, almost as if she was making a ponytail, but letting it fall back on her shoulders. He watched her as she closed her eyes and soaked up the rays of sunshine that reflected on her skin. It was then that he observed the freckles on her skin and how many of them there were. She looked like a summer’s day end, warm and teasing.   

“ _Who_ are you?” he blurted out without prior thought.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She smiled, leaning forward to steal his cigarette. She placed it in between her lips cautiously, puffing the smoke to her right side, where there were no people.

_Cautious, yet a rebel. She makes mistakes, but doesn’t want anyone else to be affected by their ripples._

Her phone rang and she answered it immediately. He tried not to listen in on her conversation, so he focused on any other thing on his mind.

“So,” she started, dropping her phone inside her bag. “I’m staying at a place not too far from here. What do you say we run some more of those lines?” she was surprisingly timid this time around.

“You got the job?” he asked, visibly more excited than she was.

“No, no. I just got called back for the chemistry test. And for a second audition.”

“That’s good! It means they liked you!”

“Let’s not jump the gun yet,” she said, level-headed as he presumed she always was. “It’s just a call back.”

He got up from his chair and stood there in front of her, waiting.

“What are you doing?” she asked, amused.

“Waiting for you, milady.” He said, in a mock British accent. Ah, if only he knew. “Come on, then. I accept your kind offer. I’ll lend you some of my alien-hunting expertise so you can nail that call back.”

 _Like I need your help_ , she wanted to say. But how could she, after he’d bought her coffee and everything.

***

Two days later, they were laying in her hotel bed next to each other. Her naked body curled around his as his free hand ran circles on her exposed back. Her disheveled hair tickled his jawline, her head fitting under his chin just so. Her right hand was sprawled on his chest in a gesture that imposed possessiveness and her eyelids fluttered closed. He knew she was tired.

He was tired, too. After the grueling audition process, he’d desired nothing more than to rest and not do anything for a good while. The chemistry read had gone well, for the most part. A couple of women he knew weren’t going to make it all the way for sure, but he was still uneasy about Gillian. They’d done great – how could they not, really, after all that practicing – but he’d overheard something he’d rather not know. Like how they were after someone that shared some qualities with Pamela Anderson rather than with Gillian Anderson.

She’d be crushed if she knew.

In a way, that was a relief. After their little two-day indiscretion, he would never be able to work in the same set as her for the run of a whole season. He felt bad for her though, she deserved the part more than any other woman he read with.

Maybe that was what he had been looking for in that first audition – someone to challenge him during a scene, someone who understood what he needed to go on. Or maybe it all came down to her eyes. _God, those eyes_. _Real, they’re definitely real._

He shifted beneath her ever-so-slightly and pressed a finger to her chin. She jolted awake and he tipped her head upward. As her eyes met his, she smiled. Her smile was a lazy, i-know-you-now kind of smile.

“I’m going to kiss you in a second, just warning you.” He mumbled, before he hoisted her up to him with one arm. Their lips met chastely, just skin pressed to skin. He let himself feel the warmth in her silence and immovability.

She broke contact and giggled into his chest. It tickled him in all the right places.

Her phone began to ring, annoyingly so, and she hopped off of him to appease it.

“This is she,” he heard her say. “Really? Well, thank you.” “Yes.” “Sure, yes.” “Thank you again.” “Okay, goodbye.”

She put the phone back on the nightstand. Then, she got up, back still facing him, and put on her sweatshirt.

“Mr. Duchovny?” she asked, while she slipped on her socks. “This whole sleeping arrangement?”

He hummed.

“We’re going to have to shut it down.” She said.

“Why in the world would we do that, Miss Anderson?” he asked back, amused.

“I think two co-workers sleeping together is hardly professional, don’t you?”

He immediately straightened his back. “You got the job.”

“I got the job.”

But he was not excited anymore. Not like he had been.   


End file.
